


Restless

by miera



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-20
Updated: 2008-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miera/pseuds/miera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth is tired of being cooped up on the Daedalus during "Intruder"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restless

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the **notjustclosets** ficathon round 2.

Day three and bored already, Elizabeth thinks, turning onto her back with a loud sigh.

Their long trip on the Daedalus is just beginning, and she's already restless. The first couple days had been spent making sure everything was squared away and getting accustomed to the sounds and sensations on board the ship. Now the novelty has worn off, and in all honesty, she doesn't have that much to do. Rodney has been poking his nose into every corner of the ship enthusiastically. Elizabeth is actually running a clock in her head about how long it will take for Stephen Caldwell to snap on Rodney for something. And John and Carson are doing... whatever it is they do to fill time. Carson's been talking to his new people. She thinks John plays a lot of Minesweeper when he isn't annoying Rodney, chatting up the F-302 pilots or following her around.

Fifteen more days of this. She wonders if President Roslin on _Battlestar Galactica_ has to fight the urge to toss people out an airlock a lot.

Elizabeth stretches and drums her fingers on her ribs absently. Okay so she's a bit bored and hates being cooped up. After everything she's faced in the last year, a couple weeks of this should be a piece of cake. She survived an _alien siege of the lost city of Atlantis_ for the love of God. She can do this.

She wonders if she has Minesweeper on her computer.

She's too fidgety to watch DVDs and she's not in the mood to read. She could go for a walk around the ship, but while the people of Atlantis wouldn't blink at seeing her in sweats and her fleece pullover in the middle of the night, she's not really eager to run into Caldwell while shuffling down the halls of his ship in her slippers. She could get changed, of course, but that would require more effort than she's willing to put into it.

Groaning, she rolls onto her stomach, kicking the wall in the process. She winces, hoping she didn't disturb John, who is in the quarters next to hers.

Abruptly she remembers Simon. Back when she was sharing a bed with him and she would have trouble sleeping, she usually got up and went to the couch to avoid waking him with her tossing and turning.

Not a problem anymore, she thinks bitterly.

She's been steadfastly trying not to think about him, without much success. Why was this bothering her so much? She told him when she first took over the Antarctica project she would be gone for very long periods of time, out of contact completely, and didn't know when she'd be able to come back. He hadn't even _blinked_. Guilt made her send the video message before they left for Atlantis the first time. And hell, a few weeks ago she'd recorded a second message, telling him goodbye. She had been ready to let go, so why was she so pissed off that he'd moved on?

Tapping her foot absently, she tells herself some hard facts. Her relationship with Simon had always been... tepid. They had met as two avowed workaholics who were happy together because they didn't have to justify putting in so many hours at work to an irritated partner. It wasn't exactly a grand and passionate romance.

Is that it? Finding out that he'd found someone who wasn't simply a compatible partner?

But she doesn't feel jealous. Just weirdly resentful. Elizabeth bunches the pillow up with her arm and sweeps her leg back and forth over the mattress, thinking.

After all, she had gone gallivanting off to a different galaxy and left him behind. She'd missed him and thought about him, but never once had she questioned that decision. (Okay maybe in the middle of the storm, after Kolya nearly killed her and then nearly kidnapped her. She'd had some doubts that night.) She'd already been in the process of letting him go when she left Earth.

Maybe that was it. She'd been letting him go, but now, knowing that he'd already moved on and met someone else, she felt like she'd been the fool. Like Simon had given up on them before she even left Earth. And the guilt she'd felt over leaving now seemed absurd and humiliating.

Elizabeth can take a lot of things in the name of the greater good, but being made to look like a fool isn't something she's ever enjoyed.

Really, it wasn't like she spent months in Pegasus lamenting his absence either. When she had missed him, it was more the idea of him, really. Almost obligatory sadness, because she was supposed to feel bad about leaving behind the man she'd been in a relationship with.

All right, brutal honesty: she missed the regular sex. While it hadn't been spectacular, it had been safe and readily available. There are some needs that even chocolate couldn't fulfill, damn it.

She'd been anticipating reunion sex when she got back to Earth, and instead she got hugs and polite distance, which made more sense when she found out about the new girlfriend. It had been intensely frustrating. She spent a year in another galaxy confronting danger after danger, deprived of pretty much every comfort available, going to bed alone every night. And whatever fantasies she'd entertained about the various men under her command in Atlantis, a fantasy didn't take the place of being touched, or teased, or just getting well and truly fucked.

Just thinking about this is making her body warm up. Her hips shift experimentally, rubbing against the mattress, and oh yes that feels nice.

Elizabeth pauses for a moment. She literally can't remember the last time she had an orgasm. Somewhere between her birthday and Teyla's startling discovery about her ancestors, maybe. After that she'd been so consumed with preparing for the Wraith attack, then surviving the Wraith attack, then they were back on Earth and Simon's behavior was confusing the hell out of her and her mother was demanding a visit before Elizabeth disappeared again. And Elizabeth might be 30-almost-40-something years old and a successful diplomat and intergalactic leader? But she still has a problem with masturbating when her mother is sleeping in the next room

She flips back over, her hand sliding between her legs. God, it has been a long time.

And damn it, she is _not_ going to think about Simon right now. He hadn't been a bad lover, but he hadn't had much of a wild side.

Her inner voice of fairness chides that she isn't exactly the poster girl for kinkiness. Having sex in broad daylight and somewhere other than a bed are pretty much the extent of her sense of adventure most of the time. It's just that Simon wasn't really the guy to push those boundaries at all.

And right now she kind of wants those boundaries pushed. After everything she's been through, she is owed some good, slightly twisted, scorchingly hot sex.

Simon sure hadn't helped with the "other than the bed" thing. True, when you were old and mature enough to have a nice queen-sized bed available, it made trying to contort yourself on other pieces of furniture seem a little silly. But there is a lot to be said for passion. For that desperate, "need to be naked / must have you right now" rush of really out of control sex, where you just did it anywhere you could, any chance you got. Elizabeth's eyes close and her hips push up into her hand.

In her imagination, she puts herself back into her kitchen in her house, but she puts Simon out of her thoughts. Not for the first time, her mind inserts John into the fantasy. She imagines him coming up behind her, trailing light kisses along her neck and nibbling at her ear. Ever since she'd overheard one of the biologists commenting on John's lips, Elizabeth has been paying a bit more attention to his mouth than is strictly rational. He does have an incredibly sensual mouth for a man.

His hands aren't bad either, she thinks, grinning to herself as her free hand cups a breast. In her mind, John is pressing her body against the kitchen counter, mouth hot on her neck and his fingers teasing her hard nipple through her shirt.

John is a dork and a not-so-closeted geek. He is a soldier, a ruthless killer, an incredibly gifted strategist. He can be sweet and silly and cold and harsh by turns. The thought of all that creativity, the deep intensity of his personality, being turned on her sexually makes her thighs tingle.

Her fingers are rubbing hard between her legs and her underwear is damp even though there are two layers in the way. She wriggles for a minute, freeing herself from her sweatpants and panties. Her hand slips back between her thighs and she groans under her breath at the direct contact.

She pictures John pushing her clothes down, freeing her legs, and then nudging her forward so that she is leaning against the kitchen counter. _He_ wouldn't always insist on going to the bedroom. Or if he did, it would be to make better use of the bed than plain missionary position sex. He'd spread her out on the bed and watch her. Or tie her to the headboard.

That thought surprises her. Back in grad school she'd tried the bondage thing with a boyfriend and hadn't enjoyed it much. There was a difference between losing control from arousal and deliberately giving it up, and she hadn't liked the latter feeling. She never really fantasized about it much, even, after that.

Tied up and at John's mercy? That makes her hot.

But she goes back to the kitchen scene. Her half-naked and bent over the counter, John close behind her. Her eyes squeeze more tightly shut as she imagines the belt buckle and fly of his jeans scratching at her ass as he pins her. She concentrates on her fingers circling between her legs. Her body is tense and aching already, just like it would be if John was touching her like that. He's such a natural born flirt, she can't imagine him not enjoying this, not drawing it out until she is wild and desperate for him.

He'd tease her, rub her clit and fondle her breast, lick her neck and whisper things in her ear. Dirty things, all the things he imagines doing to her, the things he is going to do to her. She _knows_ that in real life John has fantasized about fucking her. She's caught him staring at her breasts too many times to doubt it. Just like she knows he has fantasized about Teyla and probably plenty of other women. Not that it bothers her. Hell, _she_ has fantasized about Teyla herself (that skirt Teyla wears when she is working out is a dangerous thing).

Elizabeth smirks at the thought of John finding out that little tidbit, since the idea of her and Teyla together probably has crossed his dirty mind more than once. She can almost picture his expression. His eyes would cross a little and he'd do that thing where he bit down on his lower lip and rubbed at his chin.

The first sexual fantasy she'd had about him had been from the lip-biting thing. Elizabeth wants to do it herself, lean in and bite down on his lower lip just hard enough to sting, hard enough to make him shudder.

In her mind she does it, cranes her neck and bites and then kisses his lips. That snaps his control and he fumbles open his jeans and shoves them out of the way so he can slide into her.

And _fuck_ , she wants that. It's been so damn long since she's had that. Her body tightens and aches at the thought of his hard, thick cock sliding into her. Her fingers just aren't a sufficient substitute, not by a long shot. She wants penetration, the stretch and slide of it, wants to feel so full that it almost hurts.

John would take her like that. Slide into her and then pull out, keep his fingers busy on her clit while he fucks her steadily, goad her into begging for it, tell her how good she feels around him, how sexy she is, half-naked and bent over the kitchen counter, letting him have her in the middle of the room in the middle of the day like this...

Her body shudders and the orgasm strains every muscle, it feels like, going on for a so long a noise is torn from her involuntarily. She claps a hand over her mouth belatedly. God, she hopes nobody heard it. The walls on the ship aren't that thick.

But she keeps working her fingers through the climax, twitching from little aftershocks. She's sweaty and her legs feel like rubber but it's _good_. The tension that has been keeping her from sleep is gone now.

Not bothering to get dressed again, she turns on her side and pulls the blanket back up. With a jaw-popping yawn, she starts to drift off to sleep, vowing not to let herself go that long without some sort of release again.

Drowsily she hears footsteps outside and prays again that nobody heard her. Especially not John, if he is even in that room next door right now.

Especially since she cried out his name.


End file.
